Page 36 of One Wealthy Wedding

“What does that mean?” I ask warily.

“Didn’t you say Theo was pretending to be out with a woman?”

“He was,” I say slowly. “But he’s not with her.” And it made my insides twist with anger when I saw him. I felt like I was going to throw up on the bar. And why? I have no claim to him. He’s an ex-friend and a fake husband, nothing more.

“So what?” Blair says. “You want to live a little, right? This is how you do it.”

“Dance on a table, flirt with men, do some shots, let loose.” Lane’s eyes are bright with excitement.

“I don’t know.” I chew my lip. I shouldn’t have started the list. It’s too much. Nerves take flight in my stomach. I should stay home. It’s safer here. That familiar tug grows. Don’t reach for too much, Cat. Every time I have, I’ve been slapped down. You’re not that kind of girl. It’s my stepmother’s voice that rings in my head. Well meaning, sure, but she’d decided who I would be before I ever got a chance to. I take a deep breath, look my friends in the eye, and say, “Let’s do it.”

The nerves are back as we step out of the cab in front of Hedonism. I know Theo comes here. It’s sexy and mysterious—a black painted door, a velvet rope, and a bouncer in a suit.

“Can we get in here?” I hiss at Lane. I don’t have an invitation, and I’m no one these days.

“Totally.” She winks at me. “I called ahead and let them know we were coming. Theo’s name opens lots of doors.”

“It’s good to be him,” Blair mutters, smoothing her silk dress over her thighs. She’s in all black, looking sexy and dangerous. I’m in a short dress that Lane lent me. The navy silk drapes low in the back, open nearly all the way to my butt. It’s held up by jeweled straps. Not something I’d normally wear, but stuffing armfuls of Valentino into my suitcase wasn’t top of mind when I fled Rockwood.

“You look great. Stop fussing.” Lane swans up to the bouncer and shows her ID. He nods and opens the door. Two steps, and we’re enveloped in pulsing darkness. Music thumps, growing louder as we pass through the coat check and down the hall. It’s low and sexy, with a beat that vibrates through my body, setting the fine hairs on my arms on end and making my stomach tumble.

Lane grins at us. “I see why people do this,” she shouts as we step into the main area. “I’m getting drinks.”

Lane orders something that’s fruity and definitely too strong, and we make our way to the clusters of low-slung couches. The furniture is velvet, gilt and jewel tones. Curtains hang at intervals, the rich brocade a backdrop for plants spilling obscenely from their pots. It’s a riot of life.

“It’s like a debauched Versailles,” I say to Blair, who is looking around with a half smile.

“This is where Theo goes?” she responds, tilting her head to a couch where a man and two women are a tangle of limbs.

“He’s a bad boy.” I shrug, even though the thought of Theo here fills me with nerves. Ugh. I could see it too. His eyes half-lidded, his hand gripping the straps of the woman’s dress, like the man’s big hand is doing. The man sees me looking and cocks his head in invitation, a smile playing over his lips. I jerk my gaze away. “That guy just propositioned me. With his eyes.”

Blair bursts out laughing. “What did you expect? The name of the club is Hedonism.”

“I don’t know.” My cheeks are hot, and I so badly want to have even 10 percent of Blair’s cool acceptance. I’m not totally innocent. I’ve just been sheltered. And fuck, I don’t want to be anymore. I want to be like Lane, with her tattoo bared between the swells of her breasts, her hips swinging as she walks back from the bar. I want to be like Blair, who looks positively bored at the writhing bodies around us.

So when Lane offers us shots with a wicked grin and then snaps a selfie of our group, I down the drink in one go and ask for another.

“Let’s go, wild child,” Blair shouts.

Let’s fucking go, indeed.

13

Theo

Cat is at my favorite club. I run my finger over the photo on my phone. Lane posted it, the little troublemaker. Lane’s eyes are glinting in the photo, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Against my will, I examine Cat’s face. She’s flushed, excited, wide-eyed. Her lips are parted and her makeup is sultry. Don’t zoom in. Don’t do it. But I do, until Cat’s face fills the screen. Is that a shot glass? She’s out at my favorite club, and I’m not there because I’m at Cole’s, watching Band of Brothers reruns and drinking sparkling fucking water, because I’m cleaning up my act. And ignoring my wife.

While she’s out doing shots and probably dancing with some guy. I’d dance with her if I saw her there, which means a hundred other men would too. She’s stunning and innocent, but grumpy and sharp and full of secrets. An enigma. I rub my thumb against my bottom lip. What if she has sugar on her lip from one of those fruity drinks they serve? Will some other man press his thumb to her mouth? Not likely. At Hedonism, he’d probably lick it off.

Fuck.

I’m up and getting dressed before I can think too hard about why.

“Can I take your car?” I burst into the living room, where Cole is foam rolling and listening to an audiobook. Probably The Power Broker or some boring shit like that because deep down, he’s an old man. He does have nice cars, though.

“What’s the rush?” He pops an earbud out.

“She’s at a club.”

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